Maybe, Possibly, Perhaps
by somerdaye
Summary: But Haruhi never really did like maple syrup all that much, anyway. TamaHaru.


**disclaimer;** Me no own.

**dedication;** Symone! Thank you so much for being my temporary beta, even though my file choice made it more difficult than it probably should have been. Love you, dearie. I hope this is satisfactory payment for your services. :)

**notes;** This is probably a very overdone idea, but it wouldn't escape me. So here you are, your typical _what could have been_ fic. Also, LOTS of spoilers for the manga.

**xx**

_"Mr. Meant-to has a friend, his name is Didn't-Do. Have you met them? They live together in a house called Never-Win. And I am told that it is haunted by the Ghost of Might-have-Been."_

_-Minerva Collins_

**xx**

She considers where she might have been at this time, this place, if she'd taken a different path. She's not certain, as nobody can ever be sure of these sorts of things, but she can hazard a pretty good guess now that she's no longer quite so oblivious.

When she was being carried, oh so long ago now, she'd felt herself blush against her will. He'd said her name, and it felt so much more special because very few words were granted the honor of that deep, soothing voice. Where would she be, right now, if they hadn't been interrupted by private police forces and small but mighty martial artists swinging in like George of the Freakin' Jungle? She might be watching him practice his kendo, or they might be eating dinner together in comfortable silence.

She can't really picture what might have happened if she'd smiled back, anytime he'd smile up at her with that dazzling smile of his. But she's sure it would involve lots and lots of cake.

If she'd turned her head _ever-so-slightly_, with his fingers at her neck and the brilliant lights of the rides around them, her second kiss would have been taken away. But maybe, in this alternate universe she's pondering, she wouldn't have minded. Maybe she'd kiss him back, maybe she'd close her eyes, maybe they'd get so lost in each other they wouldn't notice a familiar someone running away from the sight. Right now, in this alternate reality, she might be trying on some amazing design of his or listening to him complain about a movie she would be _trying_ to watch but all he would want is her attention. And, probably, it wouldn't take much to get it.

A big one, that she's started to think about pretty often, is that stormy night. The dark sky was already streaked with flashes of lightning, but she didn't even flinch, pinned under him like some sort of rag doll as he threatened to take away her innocence. She wonders. If she hadn't called him out on it, would he have done it? Perhaps. Would she have let him? Perhaps. Would the door still have opened to the same sight it did in her reality? Probably not. She knows, from that night and a few other encounters, that he's truly a good guy. And right now, she could be reading a book, snuggled up next to him on the couch while he types away at his ever-present laptop, but sometimes he might sneak a kiss to the side of her head, just to remind her that he's there, and that he cares.

The biggest _what-if_ of all, though, is the one she actually had to consider. The idea of what could've happened had she answered him differently still kind of haunts her. Had she said _sure_ instead of _sorry_, had she smiled instead of tearing up, had she stepped closer and hugged him instead of letting him walk away, would she still be happy? She knows the answer to that. Of course she'd be happy. Maybe not to the extent she is now, but in this game of make-pretend she's complaining about the amount of maple syrup he drenched on her carefully made dinner, and he's laughing and ruffling her hair while playfully reminding her that they have cooks for this sort of thing. And while she pretends to be annoyed, she's actually having _fun_, despite all the odds.

Yet she's pretty sure she made the right choice.

So, _right now_, she's not watching kendo or eating cake or modeling or snuggling or complaining. She's listening.

Just listening.

Her eyes are closed, her hands clasped in her lap as she lets the melody of the piano keys calm her from her long day of work. The notes are poignant in the soft summer air, the setting sun reflecting off the white surface of the grand piano.

The song draws to a close, and she lets her eyes drift open.

And she _knows_ she made the right choice.

"What are you thinking about, ma cherie?" His eyes twinkle mischievously, and she considers the idea that he might even know what her musings are. But only for a moment - she then remembers the extent of his idiocy.

"What could have been," she says evasively, reaching out a hand to brush some stray strands of blond hair out of his face.

He gives her a warm smile and takes her hand in his, pressing his lips against the back gently. "And?"

"And I think I much prefer reality." His simple question tells her all she needs to know. He knows exactly where her thoughts are. "I don't much like maple syrup, anyway."

She might not be certain of where, _precisely_, she'd be had she taken a different path, but she's _very_ certain of where she wants to be. And that's right here, as her husband laughs and kisses her tenderly, still very much the romantic he's always been.

Maybe in another reality, she'd be smelling sanma cooking or chocolate cake or strawberry lipgloss or peppermint or maple syrup, but all she can smell is roses.

And that's perfectly fine with her.

**xx**

**Fin.**

**xx**

**notes;** Fluff? Not my forte. But that is. *points to review button*


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